


Parisian Nights

by Naemi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Despair, Drama, Forced Prostitution, Hurt Isaac, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Underage Prostitution, Vignette, mean Chris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2149371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The promise of a new life, freedom, and peace of mind lay in ruins, shattered by the man he'd trusted enough to leave everything behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parisian Nights

**Author's Note:**

> [canon divergent after season 3b]

 

Paris was bright lights and high fashion, stunning architecture, and fancy cafés by the banks of the Seine. It was a mélange of business and art, wealth and fame, romance and love.

Isaac knew none of this. He spent his days pacing the floor of a windowless room and his nights biting back tears of shame. The promise of a new life, freedom, and peace of mind lay in ruins, shattered by the man he'd trusted enough to leave everything behind.

He should have seen it coming. Not at first, not while Chris' touches had been encouraging and sweet. When the restraints had come into play, however, or the wolfsbane-laced amphetamines, the insults, the accusations and Allison's name, he should have known. He should have left while he still could. Instead, he had clung to the thought that Chris didn't mean any of it, and the hope that he might forgive him one day.

Isaac had firmly believed that if he could only prove he was every bit a good boy, it would be okay.

But nothing was ever okay.

The only time he saw Chris anymore was at night when they went to the cheap motel that served as Isaac's workplace now. If Chris talked to him at all, it was mostly for barking orders or rebuking him for something that was not entirely his fault. Rarely, he would spare him a word of kindness if a john had crossed the line, but since Isaac was advertised as “particularly keen to experiment,” that didn't happen often.

Nothing was actually off limits. Whether the men wanted him tied up like a package or splay him out like a slut, whether they wanted him screaming or sobbing, Isaac had to play along. All he could do was to count the thrusts until this nightmare was over and a new one would begin.

Chris gave a fuck. He sold the boy by the hour, and what happened behind the door was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was the cash, and maybe the satisfaction of causing utter destruction.

Isaac had lost count of the many times he had pleaded with Chris to at least forbid outright assault, but to no avail. It was okay for his johns to rough him up, and curtesy to his healing, there were never any flaws on his skin that lowered his price. Usually, Chris only made sure to increase the proportion of the wolfsbane in Isaac's aimies when he dared to hint at someone being trouble. It kept the boy compliant and unable to wolf out, accidentally or on purpose.

Chris drew the line only at the threat of lasting injuries, which was so much of a joke that Isaac would have laughed, had he not feared for his miserable life.

On the nights when business was slow and Isaac didn't need to rush to get ready for the next disgrace, he would sit down in front of the room and watch the stars. It reminded him of the few occasions when he had sat on the roof with Scott, sometimes sharing sweet kisses, mostly just sharing the silence. Isaac drew strength from this memory and the thought of returning to his Alpha one day. They would run through the forest and howl at the moon together. Scott would never ask, but always listen, give Isaac all the space he might need or hold him close so that his calm and steady heartbeat could soothe the pain.

It was a beautiful fantasy. Nothing more.

Isaac wouldn't ever go anywhere but back inside that shabby motel room with a guy reeking of cigarette smoke, motor oil and unwashed clothes. He'd play coy for that one, fluttering his lashes while pretending to suck cock for the first time. And when the man was gone, he'd wash him off like all the others before him.

Like he wished he could wash away the despair.

Like he knew despair would wash him away one day.

**Author's Note:**

> My belated second entry for the **Solicited Love Fest 2014**.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful **Moit** , who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> [Feedback is love.]


End file.
